Sweat was pouring off him like he was in a damn sauna, blood pumping so hard it felt like his veins were gonna burst. His heart was pounding like a drumline, muscles coiled tight, ready to explode.
Luke Howard had his hands hanging loose in front of him, left foot holding him steady, right foot ready to launch. His eyes, locked through his helmet, were glued to number forty-four in the dark blue jersey—the quarterback, his target. He didn't give a damn about the other players; it was all about that one guy.
"Attack!"
The quarterback yelled, the ball snapped, and the QB caught it, stepping back to scan the field.
As soon as Luke heard the call, he was off like a shot, right foot digging in, charging forward. The other defenders seemed to forget he existed, and he bulldozed through, reaching the quarterback in no time.
Luke wasn't stopping for anything, shoulder down like a runaway train, he crashed into the QB's chest. His hands wrapped around the guy's waist, slamming him to the ground.
The quarterback hit the turf like a ragdoll, no fight left in him, every muscle screaming.
The whistle blew, play over, quarterback sacked.
Luke stood up, sweat stinging his eyes, but before he could wipe it away, Kevin Prince, mad as hell, chucked the football at his head, yelling, "What the hell were you doing! What the fuck were you doing!"
Kevin charged at Luke, but Luke wasn't backing down, grabbing Kevin's helmet. They butted heads like two bulls, neither giving an inch.
The other players rushed in, Kevin cussing up a storm, "You shameless bastard! Go back to Avalis! You show-off! You disgusting little Bambi! You son of a bitch!"
Hearing that, Luke snapped. What started as a standoff turned into a full-on brawl. He swung a fist, landing a solid punch on Kevin's gut, then another, aiming for the weak spots. His right hook made Kevin howl like a wounded animal.
That set off a chain reaction.
Luke was just a practice squad guy, not even officially on the team. Kevin, though, was a main player, even if he was third-string. They were in different leagues.
So, the main players jumped in, yanking Luke away and throwing him to the ground, starting a beatdown.
Outnumbered, Luke curled up, taking the hits, but he didn't make a sound, just gritted his teeth and took it.
Someone, being a real jerk, kicked his helmet hard. In football, that's a big no-no. Luke's head spun, stomach churning, and everything went black for a second, stars flashing in his mind.
But it didn't last long.
With a sharp sound, the crowd finally broke apart. "Bambi, Bambi, you okay?" a worried voice called out. Without opening his eyes, Luke knew it was Logan Newman, his best friend and a first-string player.
"You sons of bitches! Are you all crazy?" Logan yelled at the team, "If you need to blow off steam, there's a pack of wild dogs at the school gate! Go there!"
Coach Rick Neuheisel hobbled over, spitting mad, "You little bastards, what's going on? Kevin, did a donkey kick you in the head?"
Kevin, still fuming, ignored the coach, ripping off his helmet, face red, shouting, "Bastard! You bastard! You're dead! I'm telling you, you're dead!"
The coach shoved Kevin hard in the chest, snapping him out of his rage. Kevin finally noticed the short, white-haired old man in front of him—the guy who could make or break his career. Panting like a madman, Kevin whined, "This was just a drill, practice. Does he even know what practice is? He acted like it was the damn Super Bowl!"
Why could a practice squad player sack a regular player so easily? Simple: it was practice. One side was just going through the motions, the other was giving it everything they had.
"Bullshit!" Logan stepped up, pressing his helmet against Kevin's, not backing down an inch. "You're just a whining sissy! What else can you do besides complain? I bet Luke would make a better quarterback than you!"
"What did you say?" Kevin lost it, ramming back like a bull. "Try it, let that trash try! That scrawny stick figure, a glass man who'd shatter with a light bump! He's not even a substitute, just a practice squad player. If he can complete a pass, I'll eat this football! Fuck! You bunch of stupid, disgusting lunatics! Come on, try it!"
The recently calmed chaos erupted again, teammates mixing into a brawl, starters, substitutes, and practice squad players all jostling together, the situation spiraling out of control.
In the crowded melee, Luke, lying on the ground, was completely helpless, like a canoe in a storm, ready to capsize. Just then, a pair of hands grabbed his shoulders, pulling him back forcefully, dragging him out of the fray. Fresh air rushed into his lungs, and he finally felt alive again.
"Bambi, are you crazy?" The angry voice rang in Luke's ears, a mix of anger and concern.
"Bambi" was his nickname. Initially, it was just a playful name used by his friends from Avalis, where he had immigrated from, because he looked like a little deer to them, and the cartoon "Bambi" was quite famous. They laughed and called him that. Over time, other friends picked it up too.
Bambi was a little deer, and football was often called a sport for savages. Standing on the field, it was like a little deer among lions, a truly ironic effect. The football team members always liked to call the not-so-strong Luke by this name, mocking, ridiculing, teasing, and discriminating against him.
Luke glanced up, "Hey, John." It was John Ward, another member of the practice squad.
John rolled his eyes dramatically, shouting angrily amidst the noise, "Your John Wayne hero act just made us look like a mess. Please, tone it down!"
"Tone it down?" Luke frowned, puzzled.
John was almost gnashing his teeth, "Everyone keeps saying we need to work as hard as Luke, we need to work as hard as Luke! I'm sick of hearing it." John's eyes bulged with anger, his face contorted. "What's the point of getting your head kicked every day? It's not worth it, you know that. You need to play in at least one regular-season game to be an official player. But the problem is, you'll never get to play! So stop acting like a savior, you're just a piece of shit! You're just a fucking practice squad player! Not even a substitute!"
"Get lost, John!" Luke waved dismissively, "If you don't like it, you can leave!"
"You lunatics, calm down, calm down!" Rick shouted furiously, the coaching staff rushing in to control the situation.
The crowd gradually separated, but the young, fiery faces were still full of anger, shouting at each other, "Come on, try it!" "Let's see, you pill-popping idiots."
"Quiet! Jesus fucking Christ!" Rick was beyond furious. "Get back to practice!"
"Coach, let Bambi try, Bambi can easily outplay that idiot!" Logan's angry declaration came.
"Try it! My bet still stands! If he completes a pass, I'll swallow this football!" Kevin's defiant response came.
"Then let's have a match!" Rick, utterly exasperated, waved his hand as if swatting flies. "Three-on-three, quarterback, receiver, defender, pick your teams! Three-on-three practice! After that, everyone shut up! The losing team doubles their training load! Now get to the field, three-on-three, start now!"
"Bambi, Bambi!" Logan ran over excitedly, shouting to Luke, "Come on! Let's teach Kevin a lesson, show that trash what you're made of! You were the best quarterback in high school! Now let's show them!"
But Luke didn't respond, because a strange voice echoed in his mind: Football Superstar System binding complete, officially starting, countdown, three, two, one.